


Fragile

by robzisapanda



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Depression, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Louis, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, also word vomit as usual, i don't think i know how to write happy things, just a lot of sad really, not actually happening though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robzisapanda/pseuds/robzisapanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a lot more fragile than people realise and sometimes he really just needs Harry. Sometimes, Harry needs soft, piano-practiced fingers to slip under his sweater and spread over his shoulders and sometimes Louis just needs to cry.</p>
<p>Or the one where Louis gets sad a lot and Harry worries a lot and Liam is really confused by their relationship and they could really use Zayn sometimes.</p>
<p>And I'm still really bad at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> So, as usual, I had a completely different idea for a short little fluffy 2 or 3k words of sweater Louis and soft showers but then the beginning just kept going and now I'm giving you almost 11k of really sad things and really bad descriptions. I really am sorry.  
> Also, TRIGGER WARNING. There's a large portion about self-harm in this and if you are easily triggered please do not continue or message me on my tumblr robzisapanda or comment down below and I'll tell you when to stop reading and when to restart. I would do it now by I've been writing this for 6 days and it's almost 11 pm and I'm so fucking tired despite this and I really want to go to bed.
> 
> Small smut references to blow jobs too by the way.
> 
> Also, as usual again, I have not got any to proof read and haven't even reread the last 2k words or so myself so I apologise for the grammar issues that probably plague the second half of the story.
> 
> I think that's all so enjoy the word vomit that flowed from my fingers as I tried to just create some fluff and ended up spewing out angst ad sadness. One day I'll get that "happy" thing right.

The lunch had taken 3 and a half hours. He had been promised it wouldn’t be more than one. He had been promised that the cameras would blind him upon arrival, frantic 7 and a half minutes to follow, then a 43 minute relaxing, camera free meal and finally a 9 and a half secret escape out the back into the black shelter of freedom. The drive back would take less than half an hour and then he would finally get to wrap himself in the warmth of his bed and his Louis, but nearly 5 hours later Harry finds himself staring out of tinted windows, trapped in the freedom, trapped in fucking traffic.

The cameras had all been late. In the five years that Harry had been forced to parade around for the media’s amusement, for the lies to be spun until it was a hazy mess of lies and truths interwoven into an indistinguishable web, the cameras had always been on time. Every time he had hated it, the fact that they knew he was coming, they had been paid to be at a specific place at a specific time, they knew what to expect, and he never did. Despite the constants in the flashes and yelling and absolute overwhelming of his senses and emotions, there was still always going to be something different. A new rude comment that he hadn’t expected was often a surprise and although he may spend an hour crying into the warmth and cinnamon of Louis, he could handle that. An influx of new photographers in an open space allowing for a massive increase in surrounding bodies to the point that he could barely breathe and was often the one gripping the gorgeous girl’s arm for support rather than the other way around could leave him breathless and in a daze when he got home and although he may gasp nearly impossible to understand words across the ocean while Louis sits silent on the other end of the phone before gushing in those soft vanilla tones, he could handle that. 

But the fact that he had sat there for nearly three hours before they’d finally got the call to tell them that they could return to their respective lives because the wall of flashes had finally arrived left Harry more unsteady than usual. Knowing that Louis was at their home for the first time in almost a year at the same time as him, that he could be seeing Louis for the first time in nearly a week without worrying about anyone seeing them for the next 8 days, that Louis was hurting made him lose himself in the words of anger for management flying through his head. Losing yourself before facing paparazzi was something all the boys had discovered was a bad idea 4 years ago which meant that Harry almost completely lost his footing physically as he was confronted with an absolute tsunami of screaming, lights, crying and colour. 

The fans had arrived. The fans and the cameras and the curious bystanders saw Harry Styles almost fall over nothing just because he was lost in his own head and had not realised that 3 hours was more than enough time for the whole world to know precisely where he was, and that place was the place he wanted to be least in the world: not with Louis. After catching himself on the doorframe of the restaurant and scurrying along behind blonde hair and concerned eyes, trying not to cry because he could not do this right now, he wanted nothing more than to get into the black cage of freedom and escape to domesticity and endless, uncontrolled freedom. Instead, he is still plastering a smile on a mask of happiness half an hour later while fans talk incessantly. In that moment, for just that moment, he hates his job. He hates what he does more than anything else in the world and it’s only when he’s finally settled in soft, air-conditioned, car seats with only a silent driver and a soothing instrumental easing into his ears that he regrets it and wishes he had paid a bit more attention and taken a couple more photos and his remorse forces a tweet through his fingers to thank everyone for something that in his current state he can’t remember.

His current state is not one he enjoys. He is on the absolute brink of ripping the door open and walking the 17 remaining miles home because the darkness is starting to overtake the sky and headlights are turning on and Louis is not answering his phone and Harry is about to cry but he feels like the moment he stands, his legs will give out underneath him before he can even try and escape to the one person in the world that will make it all better. The one person in the world even more broken than himself but always hiding it from everyone else. The one person who, despite those fractured parts, could put Harry back together. The one person who was sitting in their house, waiting, phone switched off, probably staring at a wall or still asleep in the state Harry assumed him to be in.

Louis flying out to LA before Harry had been a compromise he was willing to make to be able to at least spend some of their meagre break with the beautiful human that was the one who slipped that heavy, warm ring onto his finger that in their most difficult times reassured him, calmed him, made him happy. 

Today had been one of those difficult times. Although they were both in the same country (a rare occurrence) and technically in the same house, the two hadn’t actually seen each other yet and Harry was desperate. He knew that he had not paid as much attention as is expected from “considerate, attentive, polite” Harry Styles and he was quite certain that he may have actually ignored one or two people and cut stories short but throughout the whole, soul-draining event, despite the title of a “celebration” all he had been thinking about was the way that Louis had cried through the abrasive microphone on his phone last night - curled in a bathroom stall with Alberto standing just outside, while the muffled bass of the dreadful “music” that frequented the clubs Louis was dragged to drowned out half of Louis’s broken sobs. 

Harry had been near tears himself and had done his best to soothe the poor broken boy in the same way Louis usually did for him, but it had seemed ineffective when moments after a particularly heart-wrenching sob Harry heard Josh’s murmurs, made almost intelligible by the music, as the soft sounds of Alberto coaxing Louis out into the bathroom, assuring Harry that he’d phone as soon as they were “home”. 

The argument that was going to define what Louis’s “home” really was rolled slowly off his tongue with only the soft end call tone of the device that was his barrier responding.

That was not a compromise he had been willing to make, Louis staying with the Devines so that as much of the diversion could be made and etc etc as usual. The etc etc was the part at which he stopped listening. 

Liam had always said that he was surprised that it was “gentle, considerate, patient Harry” who stopped listening as Richard and Harry continued pouring painful words echoing “separation” and “hide” and “conceal” and the ever-present “you understand of course”. And through it all “short-tempered, irritable, hot-headed Louis” would nod and absorb it all to explain in a soft tone to Harry later when he felt less like crying or screaming or breaking a desk, or neck.

Zayn had always just looked at Harry with this strange emotion that to this day Harry didn’t understand before looking at Louis with those soft, understanding eyes that he reserved for only Louis. Harry, in the beginning of their relationship, had often wondered if he needed to be jealous of the complex and entirely confusing relationship that Zayn and Louis shared but over time he had come to realise that these were the kind of relationships that Louis naturally surrounded himself with. 

These strange, deep connections with people that would never really understand Louis but would accept everything that the incredible being that everyone knew him as did were the entities that Harry admired. The beauty with which Louis lived drew these relationships and the one between himself and Zayn had always been something that threw Harry, and the other boys, into a conundrum.

But Zayn wasn’t there when Harry had had to ask Louis to repeat the 45 minutes of the extensive meeting with management that he had stopped listening to as soon as they mentioned the altered plan for LA and had uttered that “you understand of course”. As the complete enigma that was Louis’s smooth-as-honey and rough-as-sandpaper voice related tour dates, transport arrangements, public appearances and accommodation with blue eyes shut and wandering fingers, Liam only watched in amusement and chuckled as blue fluttered open, met green and the crinkles in tan skin signalled the end of the detailed, but a whole lot briefer, explanation. 

“Honestly I don’t understand you two. Although Harry you should have stopped listening in meetings years ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tommo so attentive and quiet. I think management secretly love you for it too.” Louis only let out the strange exhalation of air that he managed to pass off as a laugh to everyone in the world, except Harry, at Liam’s words and pressed his lips to Harry’s hair while Harry didn’t even bother to respond, too tired and vaguely irritated, slouching to be able to rest his head on Louis’s shoulder.

As the soft, piano-practised fingers tapped comforting melodies that Louis would probably turn into some beautiful 3 and a half minute piece of sound that would, of course, astound the band, the other writers, the producers, the fans, the world and then tack on a couple of other names that really meant nothing to the song but a vague “yes Louis can take the bridge and put Liam’s voice to back it, his falsetto will support it nicely” and “maybe we can alternate Harry and Niall in the first verse to give it that varying sound”. Of course Louis would nod and quietly agree and watch his beautiful piece of sound turn into something that would be loved by the fans, the producers, the other writers and secretly hated by the band. The beautiful piece of sound that was so essentially Louis would be picked over so that it wasn’t typed on that track list solely under the name Louis Tomlinson and it wouldn’t be the original piece of beauty that it once was. 

But Louis played it off. He smiled as his volume was lowered on the recording and their own harmonies were layered over it and chuckled as the song became something else and his name was tacked on at the end, as though he hadn’t been the imagination behind it. As he smiled and tapped his foot, swaying himself slightly, the rest of the boys would frown and cross arms and glance at each other and bite lips but when Louis turned to them with that light in his eyes, the pure excitement that radiated from within him it was impossible for smiles to not spread over their own faces and feel the warmth that Louis exuded. 

Harry doesn’t remember when Louis became this person who didn’t let anything bother him, in public. He doesn’t remember when it became more important for Louis to shine his light onto others, share it rather than use it to actually fight for what he wanted. He doesn’t remember when other people became more important to Louis than the preservation of his own self. 

When Zayn left it had gotten worse. Louis had listened to everything that management had told him to do. He had used those “suggestions” to go out and party every. single. night. as a distraction from the heartbreak that the disintegration of one of the most important relationships in his life had wracked on him. All while Harry was forbidden from helping him through it. 

When Harry and Louis had finally reunited on that tour bus, Harry had refused to sleep in his own bunk for three nights and instead let Louis silently sob into his chest while he let the rest of the crew and band believe what they wanted to. On the fourth night he had returned to his own bunk. He sat, with head ducked slightly as per usual, with his crossed legs brushing Louis’s as they had both talked. Spoken words, silent touches, unshed and glistening tears and they had ended up curled together, smiling. Whispering secrets about the future, after all the “you understand of course”s and even discussing persuading management to let them stay in LA together.

Harry was there when best friends for 5 years had fallen out because of social media and he was there again when best friends for 5 years had laughed about how ridiculous they had been and had also been there when best friends realised that it wasn’t going to be how it used to be but that didn’t mean that best friends meant nothing. 

It was when Louis and Zayn made up that Louis started keeping some light for himself. When management had originally turned down his proposal to stay in LA for the 12 day break he hadn’t smiled and nodded at the “you understand of course”. He had frowned and Liam and Niall had blinked in surprise when Louis immediately replied with a simple “no I don’t understand, please do explain why I cannot make my own accommodation arrangements to stay in an entirely isolated, secret house in LA, which is a place which I used to visit as well”.

The three of them had smiled at their laps and Harry felt those soft piano-practised fingers tighten around his hand as Louis had simply cocked his head at the stuttering voices of the two heads of management who had not had a response like this from any of them in over a year.

They had left feeling victorious, despite the difference in departure date, and the four boys had smiled at each other properly for the first time in a while before they separated. Louis and Niall would be seeing each other again in just a few days and Harry dreaded having to say goodbye to Louis twice before finally being able to enjoy their American home together for the first time in a year. It had been the day before Liam and Sophia left that they had another meeting. The meeting that Harry had stopped listening in, the meeting that Liam had left irritated and confused, the meeting that left Niall glancing at Louis and Harry every 30 seconds and the meeting that Louis shone his light on everyone but himself again and nodded and he “understood of course”. It was the meeting in which Harry released soft piano-practised fingers and wrapped his own together in his lap while frowning at the strange shapes they made and soft piano-practised fingers didn’t know what to do with themselves for a moment before wrapping around each other in a mirror image. As Louis had explained the full meeting and Liam had chuckled at their strange character swap, trying hard to cover his confusion at this exchange, Harry wished that Zayn was still there. Still there to give him that unidentifiable look, to glance at Louis in that understanding way and soothe them all while soft piano-practised fingers tapped out beautiful melodies on his shoulder. 

So instead of bringing it up when they got home and complaining, Harry tried to be like Zayn and simply accept that Louis did things sometimes that didn’t make sense to him and instead savoured the feeling of Louis wrapped around him in bed.

Even now Harry didn’t understand why Louis had to stay with the Devines last night, all he knew was that he hadn’t spoken to Louis since the broken phone call in the bathroom. He had instead had to make do with Josh trying to explain that Louis wasn’t really in the state to talk and Alberto had had to put him in bed. Harry knew what that really meant. For three years Louis had endured the strange episodes that rendered him entirely helpless to control his feelings and it had been his mum that had first forced him to swallow the four little white pills that had immersed him in a dreamless sleep within minutes after a particularly traumatic attack at their flat in London with the rest of the boys in a similar state of panic as Harry. 

Jay had spent nearly an hour trying to explain to them the strange panic attacks that had plagued Louis as an early teenager and the subsequent disappearance of them a year before the X-Factor. That was the fourth attack that Harry had seen and now that he knew what they were he was determined to find another way to avoid them. It was the first witnessed by the other boys and they had seemed just as determined to avoid the breath-stealing sobbing that had followed the first three before Louis had to lock himself in the bathroom for a whole night which Harry described quietly, in a helpless voice. 

Jay had explained in soft, understanding tones that they had tried everything when he was younger and nothing had worked. Over the next year and a half Harry had discovered that she was right. The frequency had fortunately decreased as Louis got older and in the full three years since the first one had reappeared, Harry had only experienced 19 firsthand and helped Alberto, Eleanor and the three other boys though 7 in total. 

Every time Harry had tried something different. The problem was that every attack was different. As much as Harry had tried to categorise the steps, the speed, the emotions, the words, the physical reactions, just like his publicized outings, something would be different. Most would start with Louis’s strange absent expression. It was something that Harry recognised even from X-Factor days, the strange sense of calm and emptiness that took over Louis when he was stressed about something. 

After a particularly bad rehearsal in which Louis’s voice had cracked and scratched through every note, his first ever solo was taken from him. That cracking and scratching may have been Harry’s fault, although Louis said a 16 year old’s enthusiasm during the experience of his first blowjob was excusable and he understood and he didn’t blame Harry in the slightest, and afterwards, when Louis had disappeared into their room for a nap during lunch, Harry had been the one to wander upstairs with a plate and a bottle of water, ready to apologise for an hour straight and wrap the older boy in comfort, the same way that Louis had often been forced to do for him, he had stumbled upon a Louis that he didn’t recognise. 

He wouldn’t have found him had he not known about the cracked brick outside the window that let him climb up onto the roof, an escape Louis had exposed on their second day in the house. Leaving the food on the table beside the window he had placed one shaky foot after the other into the crack and hauled himself up, only almost slipping once which he considered a victory considering this was the first time he had done it without Louis watching his every move and holding his arm the whole way up. As he had rolled, not so gracefully, onto the sun warmed roof he was shown only Louis’s hunched back. Looking at him like that he had been reminded how small he actually was. Louis was only an inch taller than Harry himself and the same height as the other boys but the age difference is what essentially warned Harry of how that would change and realising now that this may be the biggest Louis ever got suddenly made the younger boy feel the need to wrap him in a blanket and never let him suffer in the world, an ironic thought later when he found out how much suffering Louis had already been through, the kind of suffering you couldn’t protect someone from. 

He slid over to sit beside the small, so still figure and turned to apologise; to check for a reaction, for tears, for anger, for anything and he saw nothing. The words died and slid back down his throat that had caught on the air that was sucked in too quickly at the sight. Louis’s blue eyes, so filled with light and laughter usually were entirely flat, almost a dull grey. The laugh lines around his eyes, already forming at this age, had vanished into motionless tan. His quick tongue trapped in a mouth turned down at the corners, something Harry hadn’t known was possible on this beautiful face. He was entirely frozen. The boy who Harry had never seen stop moving, a tapping foot, a melody quivering in his fingers, a pair of lips trying not to smile at another one of his terrible jokes, a bouncing knee, a body usually vibrating with contained energy, so much so that ADHD had been questioned and confirmed by Jay, this boy usually so kinetic with life was as still as a statue.

When Harry reached over a hand to touch the arm tensed around tightly held knees, Louis reacted in no way. Harry had become used to the way that Louis responded to his own touches, he would never be able to adjust to his own racing heart and immediate overwhelming wave of emotion at every touch from Louis, but the softening of Louis’s muscles and slow smile, whether looking at him or not, and the leaning into every brush was something that Harry expected from this ball of life. But now, his breathing didn’t even change pace, his knees stayed strapped to his chest, his fingers gripping elbows around them and his eyes fixed on some point that Harry wasn’t even sure was there. 

“Louis?” his own voice frightened him is the absolute stillness and when Louis still didn’t respond words tumbled fast than he could control into the space left by his silence, words that didn’t entirely make sense to him. He thinks that he apologised a lot, and he’s almost certain he asked Louis if he was okay and then reminded him of how incredible and amazing and gorgeous and talented and smart and truly breath-taking he was, he knows that he asked Louis to please just talk to him, please don’t hate him. He also knows that he stopped after nearly a minute and a half of this when he ran out of breath and Louis still wasn’t responding in any way. That was when Harry panicked.

As Louis had done during Harry’s asthma attack the week before, he reached for his phone, fortunately sitting beside him, switched off, and phoned the only person he knew could help: his mum.

Louis had explained with tears in his eyes after Harry was breathing, clutching his inhaler, how calm Anne had been when explaining what to do, where his inhaler was, and Harry had appreciated his mum more than ever then and knew that Jay would be able to do the same. When his shaky fingers had finally managed to find the familiar number on Louis’s phone and he could return on hand to running up and down Louis’s warm back, he managed to control his own breathing, knowing that now was not the time for an asthma attack.

“Lou?” Jay’s voice was distracted, as though in the middle of another task but when all that came out of Harry’s mouth was a sob rather than a greeting he heard the sounds of something being chopped immediately ceasing.

“Harry? Is that you? Are you okay? What’s wrong sweetie?” Jay’s instant identification of Harry’s crying should be embarrassing, realising that Louis’s mother had heard him cry enough to be able to do so, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. “Harry, breathe love. You need to take deep breaths and tell me what’s wrong.”

At Jay’s calming voice, that voice only a mother could deliver, Harry took in a shuddering breath and glanced again at the still immobile Louis, fresh sobs trying to take over when he saw that even now, he did nothing.

“It’s Louis, Jay. I don’t- I don’t know what to-,” a gasping breath scraping down his throat interrupted him and Jay’s worried voice, uttering words he didn’t recognise washed over him and he felt his body calming as his hand naturally slipped under Louis’s shirt, the warm contact of his skin reminding him of the way in which Louis would do the same late at night after creeping into his bed and holding him while the nerves wracking through his body almost made breathing impossible.

He kept his hand pressed there, the feeling of Louis’s still contracting rib cage soothing the tops of his fingers, and the familiar hardness of his spine under his palm sending through waves of calm. 

He rested his forehead on Louis’s still shoulder and tried to talk.

“Jay, I don’t know what to do. He’s like, I don’t even know. It’s like he’s not here. He’s so still and he’s not talking or responding or even moving and he’s just so like...empty.” That was the most accurate word Harry could use to describe the expression in Louis’s eyes and when Jay’s sighed softly rather than freaking out he felt himself calm further and almost melted into the immovable mass that was his Louis.

“Oh honey, that happens sometimes. It’s okay, well it’s not okay. He can’t really stop it. We went to a psychiatrist a few years back and he said it was like Louis’s distancing technique, his unintentional escape,” Harry frowned and was about to open his mouth to question but Jay continued, “so if he’s really sad or sometimes even really happy, just generally overwhelmed with something he just almost locks up to avoid feeling it or having to go through it. There isn’t really a whole lot to do except wait for it to pass, it doesn’t last too long most of the time. I think once I had to sit with him for maybe an hour or so but he’ll be fine in a bit. He comes back and doesn’t really remember much of what happened while he was sitting there but he does know what happened, that he went somewhere else. He can’t describe what goes through his head, or where he goes but he told me it was just kind of nice and warm. That’s all he ever remembers. It’s definitely all in his head because once he went into it in the shower and when I came home he was shivering on the floor because the water had gone cold and he couldn’t wake up enough to move or turn it off. So it’s easiest to just sit with him or check on him every few minutes to make sure he’s comfortable and okay.”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” Harry knew that that was what he wanted to say but he didn’t realise it was definitely what was going to whisper through his lips. Jay only chuckled sadly at that.

“And you don’t deserve to have to deal with your nerves Harry, you don’t deserve to be sad either. Unfortunately, the best people in the world often have to go through the hardest things.” Harry’s throat caught on nothing again and he was blinking back tears for the third time in under an hour at Jay’s soft words. “I wish he didn’t have it too, but I prefer this coping mechanism to others, at least this one lets him feel a bit more okay for a bit. Do you want to stay on the phone while we wait for him to come back?”

Harry considered saying yes and talking to Jay some more about this secretly sad boy sitting next to him but one glance at the sad face of said sad boy and he realised that if he wanted to be able to help Louis through this in the future, he needed to be able to do it without Jay coaxing him through.

“No, I think I’ll be okay. Is there anything I need to do when he comes back? Should I make him take something or drink something?” 

“He doesn’t need to take any medication for these but maybe just some tea with sugar, ignore his complaining about the “destruction of the true taste”, might be best to help get him back to normal. His body can get a bit, um, sensitive afterwards.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at that. “Like, you know when he needs to go have a shower or a nap for a bit after a really busy or loud day? He gets a bit sort of hyper sensitive to everything around him, worse than those times, and may just need some sugar and some quiet to be able to get his body functioning again to be able to actually feel anything without it hurting a bit.” Harry was nodding, remembering when Harry had hugged Louis, thinking he was sad, and tears had spilled from shocked blue eyes and Harry had never recoiled from someone so quickly. Later that day, they had lain on this exact roof as Louis had tried to explain what it was he felt and had simple repeated “it’s just a bit too much” a couple of times before Harry could calm him enough to get out real sentences again.

“Yeah, I know, he was telling me about it. I can do that, definitely. Should I just keep him away from everyone for a bit then?” Jay sighed again and during the pause Harry suddenly interjected realising something: “Should I not be touching him now then? Will it hurt him even though he’s no-.”

His hand and head were drawing away before he had even finished and he was about to shift further away until Jay interrupted him.

“No, I wouldn’t now. Sometimes the grounding of physical contact seems to bring him back faster. He said, it’s like he feels this incessant pressure on him, almost calling him really quietly. So don’t let go, just keep him there until he asks to move. Plus, he told me how you don’t increase the sensitivity for some reason. About that time when he was unsettled and you got into bed with him and rather than making it worse you made it better so I wouldn’t move if I were you but keeping him away from everyone else at the moment is probably best.” 

Harry’s eyes had slipped to Louis’s eyelashes as Jay had been talking, his brows furrowing as he found out something about Louis that he hadn’t known. Why hadn’t Louis told him that it helped? He could have helped him though the last one rather than sitting with a full three inches of space that felt like a freaking canyon after being so accustomed to being almost in each other’s skin permanently. 

“But if you’re okay, Haz, I can hear one of the twins calling me. Do you need anything else?” Jay’s voice was still concerned, Harry could tell, and he knew that she didn’t particularly like leaving Louis like this so he made sure to assure her and try to comfort her in any way he could.

“I’ve got him Jay, don’t worry.” At his closing words he could hear the smile in her voice as she murmured a quiet “I know, and I’m so glad you do Harry. Thank you. Love you darling.”

“I love you too Jay.” The response had drifted off his tongue as naturally as it did with his own mother and after promising to call her with Louis as soon as he was in a state to he hung up and placed the phone behind them. 

“Louis, sweetheart, please come back to me.” As Harry whispered the words he let his free hand brush through the feathery fringe and pressed his lips lightly to his cheek before wrapping both arms around Louis and slipping one hand under his shirt again, fingers splayed across his narrow, warm back and resting his head back on the shoulder that had become his second pillow.

Harry wasn’t quite sure how long they sat there but it was starting to get cold when he felt Louis shift. He froze for a moment wondering if he had imagined it but then arms were moving underneath him and before he could pull back those arms were wrapping around his own shoulders and soft lips were brushing from his temple into his curls and the ball of life was back beneath him.

“Haz?” his voice was rough and as he whispered, Harry could feel his lips moving in his hair. He couldn’t resist leaning back to be able to look at him and the whine that left Louis’s lips as he moved sent shivers through his body until he was sitting up straight and looking straight into slowly brightening grey eyes. The hand wrapped around his waist slipped up to stroke his cheek and Louis leaned into it as storm blue and soft green locked and didn’t move. The hand he still had resting on Louis’s back rubbed up and then wrapped tighter to rest on his bare hip bone.

“Hi.” His own voice was more controlled than he had expected, but similarly rough and he absently wondered how long they had been sitting there. At the sound of his voice Louis seemed to wake up fully.

“Oh god, Harry I’m so sorry. I must have freaked you out and it was a long one wasn’t it? And I didn’t respond at all and didn’t explain where I was going or tell you that it was fine and I’d be back soon or leave a note or anything and I’m so so sorry. Are you-.” Harry lightly pressed his lips to Louis’s before more words could chase each other off his tongue. Once Louis’s body had relaxed enough to melt against Harry’s he had pulled back, Louis’s lips following his own for a moment in an action that was usually associated with Harry and he couldn’t help the smirk that slid across his lips at Louis’s reaction.

“It’s okay. I was a bit worried but I called your mum.” Before Louis could interrupt he carried on. “She told me exactly what to do and what was happening and that you’d be okay. I wish you had told me how upset you were though, I could have come with you.” Seeing the frown about to slide onto Louis’s face he continued: “I wouldn’t have minded sitting here with you before you say that Louis. I would sit with you like that forever if need be.” He hadn’t meant to add the last part and his eyes widened at the same time as Louis’s did at that. But before he could try and fix the mess he had gotten himself into, a smile had graced the face in front of him. A smile that had his eyes turning blue and the crinkles beside his eyes deepening and the corners of his mouth lifting upwards again and then he was wrapping himself around Harry and they were tangled and Harry felt as though he never wanted to let go. The whispered “So would I” was the thing that sent Harry over the edge and suddenly he was crying against Louis’s chest and the tears were warm and he was warm and everything was just so warm and it that moment he knew that forever was something he was more than willing to give.

That absent Louis was one Harry had gotten used to but over time, as it had become the precursor for the attacks, he had begun to dread the emergence of this side. On days when Louis drifted away and then wandered back to Harry with only an hour of calm, still, warm absence, Harry would wrap them both in a blanket afterwards as Louis would try to explain what had overwhelmed him. When the overwhelming had been Harry’s doing, which it sometimes was after a particularly unconscious action of devotion on his part and Louis was feeling too much, Harry would slip under the blanket once Louis was back and ease him back into full consciousness with warm lips and watering eyes and innocent smirks at gasping breaths and clenching fingers. On days that rude tweets and overwhelming pressure push Louis into that other world, Harry hugs him close while the “strong” one, the “leader”, the one who is constantly comforting others and taking responsibility for more people than anyone, especially one of Louis’s meagre age, should have to falls apart and puts his whole trust in Harry to be the one to put him back together.

Sometimes though, this empty, blank Louis becomes panicked Louis. Sometimes when he comes back from that other place he isn’t better and instead he returns disorientated and lost. He returns and can’t breathe. Harry’s own asthma is suddenly being suffered by Louis.

Other times he’ll come back and become desolate, hopeless Louis. The Louis that spent 3 years of his beautiful life finding ways to avoid ending it, ways that made sure he still felt alive, ways that left white lines for Harry to trace.

The first time that Louis gave Harry that blowjob and he had accidentally ruined his voice, Harry had been in such a blissed out state that Louis denying an offer to return it hadn’t really perturbed him that much and instead he had let Louis wrap around him from behind and breathe quietly into his hair. The second and third times Harry frowned in confusion, Louis quickly wiping away the concern from his forehead and reminding Harry of the “5 minutes until rehearsal” or the “swim with the boys now Haz” and he didn’t suspect a thing. The fourth time, Harry felt like he was going to cry and just nodded before following the blue eyes into the lounge for the “movie with Liam and Cher now” and had refused to let the tears of rejection run until he could hear Louis’s faint sleep mumblings in the bed against the opposite wall. 

The next time was after they had left the X-Factor, the first enthusiastic, celebratory sexual act in the middle of their living room, on a floor scattered with half built furniture and unopened boxes. As Harry had been easing Louis onto his back, feeling pliant and still coming down from orgasm, lips pressing and fingers brushing under a waistband he had felt the warm body on him go completely rigid. He had frozen in a similar manner and had slowly pulled back and looking at Louis with wide, concerned eyes and suddenly blue tears were pouring from blue eyes and Louis was apologising and Harry didn’t understand until Louis was saying harsh words that twisted around Harry’s head. Words like “cut” and “couldn’t stop” and “habit” and then Louis was crying more and curling away from half dressed Harry on a half empty floor and saying sorry until his voice was hoarse and then Harry was rolling him onto his back and just quietly watching until Louis could breathe again.

“Louis. I need to repeat that for me. Okay? Can you do that for me? It’s okay if you can’t but I want to understand. Because I don’t understand why you’re sorry sweetheart.” He pulled Louis up into a sitting position and onto his lap, already beginning to overtake the smaller boy in size, much to his chagrin, and let his hands slip under his shirt to rest on his bare waist. As the quivering boy mirrored him and slid cool, small hands under the neckline of his large sweater to spread over his shoulders, he looked at Harry and in that moment Harry started to realise that Louis had suffered more than he could ever hope to protect him from.

“I’m sorry because,” Louis was still hiccupping from the tears and Harry soothed him and rubbed his hands softly up the warm skin of Louis’s back, fingers trailing softly to tickle at the skin. As he did, the feathery hair had fallen to his shoulder and Louis took a deep shuddering breath before straightening again and looking straight into Harry’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry because I should have told you that you were-.” His brows scrunched as he seemed to search for a word. “Buying damaged goods? I mean, I should have told you how fucked up I really am before letting you consider actually moving in with me. I should have been honest so that it would have been easier for you to leave a relationship with a person who hasn’t got their shit together enough to actually be able to look after someone else. I should have told you that were going to actually have to put up with someone fucked up enough to have to cut their own skin open to be able to stay alive, to be able to feel.” He’s not looking at him anymore by the time he has finished and his hands have slipped from Harry’s shoulders back down onto his own thighs, wrapped loosely around Harry’s waist. He feels Louis twist his toes together in that way he recognises as nerves behind his back and then one of his hands is drifting from waist up to jaw and heads are being tilted and Harry lets wet blue oceans settle on his own face before he speaks.

“Louis Tomlinson. You are not damaged goods. You are not fucked up or unable to look after anyone. I have watched you look after the other three boys and felt you do it for me since the bungalow, through Live Shows, on the X-Factor tour and even today when we moved approximately 1700 boxes into this apartment. And do you know why we moved them here? Because I love you more than anything else and I know for a fact that I would very much like to be able to see you every single minute of every single day because of that. And I mean every single bit of you. I wish you had told me earlier about this but Lou, I could never blame you for it, or be mad or resentful or not want to be in this exact house with you right now, amazing blowjob technique of yours or not,” Louis’s timid lip twitch hinted to Harry that maybe he was saying the right thing, “Louis, sweetheart, you are my everything and I am going to do more than everything to be help you through this. And I would really love it if the first thing you let me do to help is blow your mind with the greatest blowjob in history.” At this point Louis is laughing and Harry lets his own smile ease onto his face at the soft giggles.

“It all went so well until you got all clichéd at the end and then just ruined it all with a bad pun.” 

“You love my puns.”

“No, I love you, and therefore I will endure them. That does not indicate any affection I feel for your jokes Styles.” His smile faltered slightly as Harry’s hands moved to rest over his own on his thighs and he glanced down at their contrasting skin tones, letting his hands turn and slipping his fingers through the longer, paler ones resting above them. 

When he looked back up at Harry, his tear filled eyes had dried leaving over traces of fear.

“We don’t have to do anything Lou, but may I please see? I just want to see baby.” 

“Harry it’s just- ugh. They’re ugly and they make me look ugly and like they’re old because I haven’t cut since-.” He nervously glances up and before he can be prompted he finishes: “since you said you’d like to date me as well when we were leaving X-Factor. Because...I am, I’m trying to fix it, to stop for this. ” The blush that fills his cheeks makes Harry feel like he’s about to cry with happiness and he can’t stop from interrupting Louis’s speech to lightly brush his lips against the ones currently being bitten red. “But, like, they’re really prominent and you’ll see them and no one has ever seen them before Harry. And I don’t like, want to like,” the blush is spreading across his face now, turning his nose an adorable pink tint and Harry wants to kiss him again, until every insecurity and piece of sadness inside of him is lying on a heap on the floor but he doesn’t, knowing that Louis needs to finish what he’s trying to say, the sigh he lets out holds a shaky note of laughter, “I don’t want to turn you, like, off. I mean I know it’s ridiculously shallow and there are other things, like I just don’t- but yeah it’s stupid. Ugh, never mind I said anything, we can just-.” The next sigh is frustrated and he’s looking up at Harry with this crease between his eyes and his bottom lip held tightly between his teeth.

Harry lets his finger tug Louis’s lip away from the harsh press before kissing him lightly and smiling at him, fingers brushing his hair out of his soft eyes. 

“Louis. You are the most beautiful human being I have ever encountered. Yes, more beautiful than Leonardo DiCaprio before you interrupt and I know it’s clichéd, you bring this side out of me. But you are and nothing could ever make you ugly or unattractive or turn me off. Louis, you have to know it’s been driving me crazy not being able to get your pants off. If you really aren’t comfortable that’s okay, I swear, we don’t have to do anything at all but if it’s just you worrying about being “ugly” to me, it’s not going to happen and you have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”

The intense gaze settled on his face was starting to muddle his brain, drowning in blue and then suddenly Louis is nodding and he’s slowly peeling his shirt off, followed by Harry’s and then they’re both on the floor again and Louis’s knees are bent, Harry resting between them and his kisses are lazy and languid but hiding a note of tension. Hiding the nerves coursing through his body as Harry wanders down his jaw to his neck, softly biting at the soft skin while Louis gasps quietly. His lips trace burning patterns over his neck to his delicate collar bones and Harry can’t stop himself from lightly dragging his teeth along the protruding bone, Louis’s breath hitching yet again and his fingers tightening on Harry’s waist. The grin he feels spread across his skin almost sends Louis into a fit of giggles, but before he can produce a sound, Harry’s fingers are back under his waistband and then slowly, as though giving him a chance to stop it, slipping the warm sweatpants down. Lips press against his stomach as his hands drift into Harry’s curls, gently carding through the soft, tangled strands and then green is glancing up at him and he’s lost, but in the absolute nicest way. He feels himself nodding in confirmation as fingers are still slowly dragging. He breathes out shakily and looks up at the ceiling as Harry looks back down and slides the trousers over his hips, bum and then thighs. Suddenly the sweats are completely gone and so is Harry’s touch.

In that moment he wants to cry, he should never have told Harry and his slip closed, blocking the tears and he prepares himself to stand up and retreat to his own room. Suddenly warm lips are on his legs. Breath fills his lungs in a rush that almost pains him and he’s looking down at brown curls trailing over his skin as pink lips press to the scar tissue that covers his upper thighs.

Harry has lost himself as well, he’s lost himself in the sadness of Louis and he can only just stop the tears that are ready to flow as he first sees those lines. He had seen self harm scars before, they had been small, narrow lines neatly running up a wrist, maybe a slightly thicker one hiding amongst them, he had once seen two cutting straight down a girl’s forearm and Harry had wanted to cry at that but that hadn’t been as heart-wrenching as this. These were thick, white, raised lines covering half of his thighs cut in desperate messes, overlapping each other and leaving beautiful brown thighs more soft, new tissue than tan skin. These were scars that weren’t planned, or thought out, or arranged around each other. These were scars that had been hidden in bathrooms and wrapped in messy bandaging and watched with emotionless eyes as they bled. These were scars of absolute hopelessness and looking up at the beautiful boy whose eyes were shut, a tear leaking down into his hair, Harry felt that hopelessness, but he also felt that familiar overwhelming love for Louis. Pressing his lips to the raised skin hadn’t even been a conscious decision and was a new experience for him.

The skin was soft and felt like they had never been exposed to sun or cold or wind before. They felt like smooth, warm half-blown up balloons. He heard Louis’s breath coming in shaky gasps as he let his fingers trace every scar and then his lips followed. Soft skin pressing soft skin and shivers travelling from lips to thighs and thighs to lips. Harry had glanced up to gauge Louis’s reaction and tear-filled blue stared back at him. He hesitated and drew back slightly in concern.

“Is this- okay?” His voice was a raspy whisper and it seemed to draw sound out of silent Louis just liked that as a choked sob escaped his lips and he nodded, gasping for breath. Harry’s lips ghosted across both legs and then were drifting slowly towards the black boxer briefs that were tightening as he watched with rapt attention. When his fingers slipped under the waistband and he looked up at Louis to confirm again a soft “I love you” rolled off their tongues at the same time and then it was breathless laughter and complete revealing and gasping and watering eyes and stretched lips and repeated declarations of love (that were clichéd enough that remembering even Harry had to gag a bit) and maybe a couple of tears that Harry would never confess to.

Desolate and hopeless Louis was probably even worse than panicking Louis. If, after absence, Louis followed with the complete hopeless sadness Harry could do nothing but comfort him for the 15 minutes to hour and a half that it lasted until frantic tears took over. Panicking Louis was something Harry could try and help, with an inhaler right beside them while Harry sat behind him on the bathroom floor or in the empty bathtub or, only once, fully clothed under a freezing shower to try and help Louis from overheating with arms wrapped around his chest, containing the shaking boy that felt like he was going to fly away. He could murmur words into Louis’s ear that probably didn’t string together to create logical sentences but would soothe Louis nonetheless. He could time his breathing with Louis’s so that, as his own slowed, Louis would unconsciously try to do the same and they felt their heartbeats slow down together.  
Unfortunately, no matter what Harry did, the process could not be stopped at this and sometimes Louis’s emotions would overwhelm him to the point of anger. Anger at himself, at the fans, at management, at the boys, at the world, at fate and his own mind- forcing him to endure this, but never anger at Harry. Although many a plate or book had been thrown at Harry’s head, Louis would always comfort Harry and explain that it was never anger at Harry, it was desperation and sadness at the fact that Harry had to put up with this that forced him to throw to yell to punch walls until he reached the unavoidable final step.

The one thing that would never change, that Harry could do nothing to stop. The manic panic attack, the sobbing, the shaking, the complete overwhelming of Louis to the point that he can’t actually escape to that warm place in his head and he’s forced to gasp for breath and run out of tears as Harry tries for minutes and minutes to calm him, to help him, to soothe him, before he’s forced to push those four pills into Louis’s hand and desperate blue eyes are looking at him, begging to find another way and he looks back with a mirroring expression of hopelessness until Louis is taking the offered glass of water and swallowing the pills. The shaking will continue and the sobs will increase until he eventually collapses into a drug-induced dreamless sleep. This is when Harry will finally let himself cry. He will hold this precious person close and cradle him in warmth as he lets tears run down his own face into Louis’s soft, knotted hair and his body will shake as he slips Louis into their bed and then shake some more as his tears wash down the shower drain before he climbs into bed with dry eyes and a broken heart.

There had only been one time that Harry had had to force the pills down his throat as Jay had and Louis had completely broken into pieces as sobs wracked his body, every limb shaking against the floor after Harry had tipped the water into his mouth and watched him swallow. Harry had fallen to the ground and apologised over and over into Louis’s hair even after he had fallen asleep and could no longer hear the cracking voice whispering “sorry”s into his ear.

In the morning, Louis had hugged Harry and apologised himself and promised to take them himself from then on. They had cried, as they often did, and ended up wrapped around each other with whispered promises and brushing lips.

Harry had always wished for another method to ease it because when Louis would wake approximately 8 hours later he would be disorientated, confused and completely silent. The after-effects were something that had worried Harry almost as much as the attack that had forced the need for the pills. The first time, when Jay had been the one to force them into his mouth as he sobbed and begged that she didn’t, had left Harry heartbroken and left Louis almost entirely helpless the next day. The interview had not gone smoothly and Louis had spent nearly an hour with a dazed expression, unable to answer most questions and the boys had had to guide him in and out, tears threatening to spill from their own eyes.

Usually, by the end of the day, Louis had recovered and had four occasions had apologised repeatedly to the boys for making them worry and forcing them to look after him and they would simply frown and wrap their arms around him, piling onto the couch to stop his talking until he was giggling and they were smiling. Most of the “day afters” were with Harry only though. There had only been one day where Harry had been completely unable to be there for him and Niall had made Louis stay in bed for the whole day, staying with him with popcorn and movies for 8 straight hours.

Knowing that Alberto had been forced to calm Louis in this way the night before left him worried about the beautiful boy waiting for him at home and as they slowly begin to roll again, the darkness slipping by as they picked up speed and he sighed in relief. 9 miles would fly by at this speed and Harry tapped frantically on his thigh as he watched the cars surrounding them speed up similarly.

Harry tipped his head back and felt that familiar tugging feeling, as though Louis’s very essence, his very existence was drawing Harry towards him, like two magnets pulling and pulling until they meet. As his eyes slip shut and he revels in the feeling and lets the sad images of Louis slip from his mind for now. Filling his head with images of happy Louis, of a golden, laughing Louis in the kitchen while they wait for the kettle to boil, a Louis that radiates happiness on the tour bus with his feet in Harry’s lap and the rest of the boys smiling at that brightness, smiling at their sun, at his sun. He thinks of the beautiful boy that sometimes feels sad but forgets that to be able to brighten up every single life surrounding him, the boy that he will spend the rest of his life with, no matter what that means for them, no matter what they have to suffer through, no matter how long they have to pretend to hate each other, as long as he is with that sometimes-sad-but-also-shining Louis. 

Suddenly the sound of Louis’s sobs echo through Harry’s ears again and he can’t erase that no matter how many crinkly eyed smiles and lilting laughs he imagines. Suddenly the fact that Louis’s phone is switched off and Josh’s text of simply “Lou left this morning, straight after breakfast. Alberto’s with him. Tell him we love him when he’s good again yeah?” and Alberto’s subsequent text stating that Louis had thanked him and asked him to please leave as soon as he dropped him off but didn’t seem too off frighten him and he remembers those quiet murmurs in the dark when they first moved in together. Those quiet murmurs that tried to explain to Harry why he sometimes wanted to kill himself, why he sometimes couldn’t stand it all, why he sometimes just couldn’t explain any of it. Those quiet murmurs left Louis on the verge of tears and breathless and left Harry a sobbing mess and shaking body. And every time Louis was forced to have to comfort Harry. Every time, after Louis would slip off to sleep Harry would allow himself to feel pathetic for having to make the broken one, the one who didn’t see a light comfort the boy who hasn’t had to endure a single day of what Louis has felt for 4 years. Even now, 5 years later, Harry still feels pathetic when Louis is the one hugging him, apologising for being fucked up while Harry cries and tries to argue. Tries relentlessly to explain to Louis that he isn’t fucked up, or wrong, or in any way to blame and that he loves him no matter what.

Even though Louis has told Harry repeatedly that he hasn’t felt the need to end his own life in nearly 3 years, even though Louis smiles more often than not now, even though the scars are still only scars, Harry worries. He thinks of passive, accepting Louis that “understands of course” and sobs through the phone every couple of months and sometimes stop eating just because he doesn’t really feel like it and he feels that heart-wrenching pain for him, and can’t stop himself from imagining the worst. He can’t stop from imagining blood-stained floors, and red filled bath tubs and empty bottles of sleeping pills. He can’t stop the echoes of ambulance wails from ringing through his ears and as the car is finally turning into their drive his hand is already resting on the handle and then he’s repeating “thank you”s and pushing the door open and waving goodbye and running up to the front door.

He fumbles for the key and finally managing to fit the key in the lock, he shoves the door open and is tugging the key out and slamming the door shut while pulling off his shoes, stumbling into the entry hall.

“Lou! Louis! Baby!” He can’t stop the calls from slipping out of his mouth, the images flashing through his mind sending him into a state of panic. He’s falling towards the stairs when he hears the quiet strains of music slipping down the hall from the kitchen. Indie folk is filling the air as he hesitantly wanders towards the light spilling into the hallway, the house cool and the floorboards icy under his feet. Indie folk was reserved for sadness and Louis had made Harry promise approximately 17 times the first time he heard him listening to it that no one would ever find out.

“Loubear?” His voice is almost a whisper as he comes up to the door, hesitating before turning into the room.

“I’m in the kitchen.” Harry’s whole body relaxes at the timid, almost silent reply and he eases around the doorframe to see the breath taking figure that is Louis. He’s sitting on the counter, legs dangling, naked save for a pair of thick socks rolled over so many times above his ankles they must be knee highs, Harry’s large lilac sweater that covers him to almost his knees droops off his slouched shoulders. His hair is its usual feathery mess that Harry recognises as Louis’s bed hair, that he secretly believes more beautiful than the styled masterpieces that Lou creates before every show. 

Louis has let the sleeves of the sweater engulf his hands and it’s wrapped around the large green mug with the chipped rim and that Louis has used for every cup of tea he ever drinks at home since Harry brought it home with its matching purple one with the broken and then repaired handle that Harry couldn’t leave because they just seemed to sad and lonely. Louis had simply given him that fond Louis smile that Harry had grown to love in the five years of knowing him and chuckled, immediately rinsing them and making them both a cup of tea right then.

One of Louis’s lilac-clad hands drift up to brush his fringe out of his eyes as he looks up and meets Harry’s eyes, a weak smile spreading across his face. Harry is frozen in place, looking at the exhausted sadness filling his eyes but then suddenly everything is moving and he’s striding across the kitchen and moving the large mug onto the counter and standing between Louis’s parted legs. For a long moment they just look at each other, blue and green mixing until it’s swimming together, or perhaps Harry is just crying and maybe a bit over-tired. But then Louis is whimpering and Harry’s arms are wrapping around his waist, slipping the sweater out from under him easily to be able to spread his hands on Louis’s lower back, his cool fingers sending shivers up Louis’s warm spine while the small, soft, piano-practiced fingers slip under the collar of his shirt and splay over his shoulder blades. In that moment Harry feels Louis’s sadness, he feels Louis’s everything. In that moment Harry feels himself merge into Louis and they are finally one again. 

In that moment Harry knows that Louis is sad sometimes, he knows that Louis will probably be sad sometimes in the following months, publicity stunt after publicity stunt planned, he knows that Louis may never be entirely happy. But in that moment Harry knows that through all of that he will be the one standing beside him, whether it be in public or at home.

As Louis’s tears begin to chill Harry’s neck, his own eyes are dry and he knows that he will always be there to put his beautiful broken boy back together again. No matter what, those soft, piano-practiced will always fit in his own, Liam will always be confused by their relationship, management will always be forcing them to do things, to lie, to keep their heads down, Louis will always have days where he may not be able to function but most importantly, Harry would be the one to make sure that the next day would be better.


End file.
